Purgatory changes you.
It’s a fact the three teams come to terms with on the first day, hackles already raised and nerves tempered for a fight. But the physical changes, the transformations; it goes just beyond scars.
When the gas comes, Red Team is ready. They dance in toxic caves and laugh in filtered cacophonies as the world rots around them.
This place is a message, and they are paying attention.
The air is as sour as fresh rain, molecules sinking into skin. Clothing and mask and flesh, slowly melding into one. They have no faces, not any longer, and their lungs heave with grated words. The team laughs regardless, erects bonfires and effigies and spitting the name of some apathetic god.
What is here is dangerous and repulsive.
They are not as they were before.
The danger is still present.
The danger is to the body.
It can kill.
The Red Team stands, neither victors nor victims, but something else entirely. No one is as they were before.
This place is best shunned and left abandoned.
